


Golden Protector

by White_Rainbow



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Prophetic Visions, Prophetic Visions now with Technicolor Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: For my wonderful friend, Dustorm, who has absolutely brightened my life by their sunny yet fearsome presence. Merry Christmas! <3





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duststorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duststorm/gifts).



The Force moved through the galaxy like threads stitched into the fabric of time and space. In times of war, the Force shows itself in ribbons of scarlet and vibrant blue ripping through black velvet. In times of peace, the Force appears as strings of silver and gold stitched into a silken world.  

Chirrut Imwe had often described to curious Jedi how he perceived the Force and was often met with genuine surprise as very few had viewed it in such ways. 

“Perhaps the Force is hinting to me I should become a tailor,” he would joke. “How hard could it be for a blind man who has never picked up a needle and thread?”

Sometimes the Jedi would politely chuckle at this, but no one in the temple seemed very keen to his sense of humor.

Today, the world around Jedha’s most sacred Jedi temple was that of pure silk, and the Force appeared in silver threads forming long, sweeping patterns around those milling about the nearby marketplace. 

Chirrut smiled. The threads surrounding him glittered more enthusiastically than most days. Something fortunate would happen, and soon. He hoped he would bare witness to such an event, but the fact that someone would be blessed with such fortune kept the smile on his lips for most of the day.

Chirrut sat on a low perch near the temple gates, legs tucked beneath him and a staff across his thighs at apparent rest, despite his muscles trained to be ever ready for battle. For now, however, the guardian allowed himself to relax, the gray silken fabric of peace billowing around him. The hum of the marketplace, the aroma of roasted meats and woody incense, even the nip of a cool breeze of an oncoming storm lulled Chirrut into a peaceful meditation.

_ I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with- _

The disturbance in the Force came in subtle ripples. 

The fabric tremored for a moment and the silver threads flickered, but did not dull. Jedha citizens and tourists alike grew agitated, murmuring softly as a newcomer moved through the marketplace.

The person appeared as a long, golden cord weaving through the silky grayness in a jagged, patternless fashion. Though the stitching was rough and uneven, the sheer brilliance of the thread was so overwhelming that Chirrut almost squinted in spite of himself. 

The sound of metal clanging and thick canvas shushing grew louder as this fearsome newcomer approached Chirrut’s perch. 

The guardian made no effort to move. There did not seem to be reason for it. Still, he kept his hands on his staff, one palm up and one palm down, just in case.

“May the Force be with you, friend,” Chirrut greeted.

The jagged threads knotted for a moment as the person halted. This confusing golden cord said nothing.

“Are you here to visit the temple?” Chirrut pressed. His curiosity only peaked as the glimmering thread’s pattern grew increasingly sloppy. Such a violent weave in the Force should have been colored darkly, in deep greens and grays. Yet, even Chirrut’s own pattern in the Force was not so brilliant as the stranger’s.

Who  _ was  _ this person?   
“I am not,” they said, finally. The man’s voice was sandpaper grinding on a craggy boulder. His tone was not unfriendly, however, though Chirrut could assume that many may misunderstand it for such. 

“The people in the marketplace fear you.” Chirrut observed.

“Most people do.”

“May I ask why?”

“I am an assassin by trade.”

Chirrut tilted his head. “And are you here on business?”

The guardian sensed hesitation in the man before he answered. “I am here to offer my services to the temple.”

“As an assassin?” Chirrut asked, arching his eyebrow.

“As a protector.” The frantic pattern around the man began to smooth out the moment the assassin confessed his purpose. It was as if saying the words aloud gave his intentions more validity. 

“Force be with you, Protector. I am Chirrut Imwe,” the guardian said, holding out his hand.

“Baze Malbus.” 

A leather glove clasped Chirrut’s bare hand and gave a gentle squeeze as if fearful of crushing the guardian’s long, delicate fingers. 

Chirrut squeezed reassuringly to show he may be blind, but not made of glass. Baze immediately squeezed back. 

The assassin’s trigger finger, calloused and notably stronger than the others, touched the back of Chirrut’s hand. 

The simple touch whipped the Force into a flurry.

It had been a long while since Chirrut had experienced a vision in the Force. They came randomly and usually as faint glimpses. 

In that moment however, the visions came to him in a vivid rush of emotion and tactile sensations he had never experienced before.

_ \----- _

_ “Will you stay?” he whispers, his hope clouding his judgement of the Force around them. _

_ “If you will have me,” the protector replies, that graveled tone nothing but a soft purr. _

_ \----- _

_ The warmth of the protector’s forehead pressed against his diminishes the chill of the rain falling all around them. _

_ “The Force is forever as is my life with you,” he hears himself whisper.  _

_ “I do not trust in the Force as you do. But I trust you with my life and it is forever yours,” the protector replies.  _

_ The binding is done. _

_ \----- _

_ “You almost shot me,” he says, playful and comfortable. Always safe in the Force and his husband. _

_ “You’re welcome,” the protector replies, the fabric around him always a peaceful gray in amidst the tide of war. His golden thread always a beacon of light. _

_ \----- _

_ “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me, and I am one with the Force…” It is not his own voice, it is his protector’s and an overwhelming sense of peace passes over him as he gently drifts to sleeps… _

_ \----- _

Chirrut took a deep breath.

“Are you alright?” Baze asked, his tone concerned.

Chirrut looked over Baze’s aura, a new clarity aiding his senses. The stitches in front of him were no longer a jumbled mess, and a distinct pattern of graceful swirls emerged from the chaos. It glittered with promise. It shone with hope.

“The Force is good and I see your future as bright.”

“Uh huh,” Baze replied, tone thick with skepticism, releasing Chirrut’s hand. “Great. The first Guardian of Whills I meet and he is nothing more than a foolish dreamer.”

“Foolish? Or charming?” Chirrut asked with a grin. “I prefer one over the other if you care to guess which.”

Baze laughed, a hearty boisterous sound. “If the other guardians are like you, then I will enjoy providing my services here.”

“You will be disappointed, I am afraid. None are as foolish  _ or  _ charming as I.”

“In that case,” Baze said. “I will just stick with you.”

Baze’s golden threads stretched towards the silver complex lattice pattern of Chirrut’s own aura. As the cords twirled around the guardian’s complex pattern, he watched in awe as his threads began to shimmer and turn a sparkling golden hue.

“It is as the Force wills it,” Chirrut breathed.

“ _ I  _ will it,” Baze said, exasperated, then quickly added, “...if you will have me.”

Chirrut merely smiled.


End file.
